


Lines Drawn in Flesh and Snow

by Queen of the Castle (queen_of_the_castle_77)



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Consent Issues, Drama, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_of_the_castle_77/pseuds/Queen%20of%20the%20Castle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ducard thinks he’s found the perfect way to progress Bruce’s lessons. Bruce isn’t so sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lines Drawn in Flesh and Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Uses Nolan-era movie canon. Set during ‘Batman Begins’.

Everything between them is a lesson. _Everything_. This is no different. And it’s hardly the first time Ducard has used pain or humiliation to make a point.

Their bodies press against each other, the pressure of hard lines against Bruce’s battle-bruised flesh hurting almost as much as Ducard’s grip.

Ducard stares intensely at him, his eyes hard, as he applies upward pressure to the arm twisted behind Bruce’s back. Bruce holds the look between them defiantly. Giving in at all, let alone this easily, would be more severely painful than the physical aches.

“Yield,” Ducard demands again.

Bruce could kick outwards or incapacitate his opponent with a head butt and Ducard knows it – he has purposely put himself in a position where he’s exposed to such retaliation, after all – but that’s clearly not the point of this exercise. It’s not the usual kind of challenge between them, if anything that’s happened since Bruce left that prison could be considered ‘usual’ by any standards. The only way for Bruce to win this is to accept defeat. It’s not something that he finds easy. But then, that’s the point. They wouldn’t be doing this now if he’d already learned the lesson.

Bruce slowly forces himself to drop his gaze, breaking the long eye contact. He bows his head slightly in submission. He can practically feel Ducard’s smile. Bruce grits his teeth and forces himself not to lash out with the frustration of it.

“Good,” Ducard says. 

Bruce waits for him to let go in acknowledgement that the lesson is concluded. That moment never comes.

“Expectation is the root of disappointment, you know,” Ducard notes, correctly reading the anticipation of his body language. It’s a taunt that Bruce _so_ wants to rise to, but he knows he has to hold back. He doesn’t want to forfeit now. Not when it’s already cost him so much to voluntarily let Ducard have any power over him in the first place. 

He remains silent, managing to keep himself in check. 

Ducard jerks on his arm again. Bruce would fear the dislocation of his shoulder if he hadn’t long since stopped being afraid of things like mere pain.

“What do you think the lesson is here?” Ducard asks. It’s not the first time Bruce has had to determine the question for himself in order to understand the answer. Sometimes the lesson is even supposed to just be what Bruce gets out of it, whatever that may be.

“Control,” Bruce answers. “It’s about control.”

“Yes,” says Ducard. “But it’s nothing to do with my enforced control over you. It’s about you giving up control more than just notionally to satisfy me. You must give in to your emotions and to yourself. Haven’t I told you that that can drive you to your goals better in some ways than even strict discipline can? You’ve stopped fighting _me_ , at least outwardly, but I can see the battle that’s still going on. Right now your control over yourself, over your reactions, is even tighter than it was when we began. Let that control snap. Don’t fight your instincts; trust them.”

In a blur, Ducard is almost instantly on the ground, face pressed against the ice and with his arm pulled behind his back in a reverse mirror of the hold he’d had on Bruce just moments earlier.

“ _That’s_ what my instincts are telling me to do,” Bruce says.

Ducard doesn’t try to move, and neither does he seem to be vibrating in place with the repressed need to break himself free as Bruce was. “Having me face-down and vulnerable is only the first step in getting what you really want,” he says. “Don’t worry; it’s what I want as well.”

Even though the packed snow slightly muffles his voice, Bruce still detects a tone that he’s never heard Ducard use with him before. He thinks he must be imagining it. But Ducard looks over his shoulder and Bruce can see the same unexpected heat in his eyes. He can’t be deceived by two separate senses, surely. Not when he’s honed them so well.

Bruce pulls away, stunned. “What are you talking about?” he asks, expecting his suspicions will be proven wrong any second now.

Ducard languorously rolls onto his back, seeming unaffected by either the cold or Bruce’s reaction. “Giving up control. I thought we might try a hands-on demonstration so that you have a basis for building on the concept. Lust is as good a place to start as any, don’t you think?”

No, Bruce reflects with bemusement, he hadn’t been wrong at all. He’s not even sure whether he wishes he had been.

Bruce thinks of Rachel, and of the many women he’s had while wishing they were her. He’s no stranger to using people in that way. Not once did he bed one of those women and fantasise that their bodies were more masculine, though. He’s never thought himself interested enough in that sort of thing to even consider trying it. 

This wouldn’t be anything as simple as harmless experimentation, either. His life has temporarily narrowed down to three things: himself, Ducard, and the lessons. The connection between the three is already about as intense as he can cope with. This kind of escalation would tip it all over the edge.

And something in him wants it anyway. Ducard’s unfortunately right about that.

“You’re going to let me...” Bruce wonders when exactly he became squeamish about the words ‘fuck you’. They would fall from his lips freely enough if there wasn’t a man enticing him to do just that.

Ducard laughs, a sound that always holds something slightly more sinister than honest amusement. “Oh no. Did I say that? No, what I’m going to do is show you how to give up control, to give into what you feel. You cannot hope to understand and master your true fears by suddenly indulging in them after so long of trying to hold them back, just like that. These things are never so quick and easy. You must first prove to yourself that you can give in to something a little less integral to you. The rest will flow from there.”

He lunges upwards at Bruce, and not even the extensive training Bruce has received in the field of always being prepared and countering sneak attacks is quite enough to allow him to stop Ducard’s momentum.

Perhaps sensing that a kiss on the mouth right now won’t get him anything but a bitten and bleeding lip, Ducard ravages Bruce’s throat instead, lips and teeth combining into an almost perfect counterpoint of pleasure and pain. Bruce groans and promptly decides not to question which of those two feelings is the origin of that noise.

Bruce feels Ducard’s hand removing the layer of his armour and stiffens. He almost surrenders and lets himself enjoy it. Almost. 

“Give in,” Ducard instructs, ever the teacher. With his mouth ceasing to trace patterns across Bruce’s sensitive skin for the moment it takes to speak, Bruce thankfully has a second to actually think.

“No.”

“This is a challenge you must conquer.”

“For once, stop trying to teach me things I don’t want to learn,” Bruce growls. He pushes Ducard away hard, and then retreats himself. 

It’s like any lesson, he reminds himself. Always seek out firmer ground when your balance is shaky. Ducard himself has stressed that more than once.

“I’m not just going to let myself be driven by uncontrolled feelings,” Bruce says. “That’s not what I’m here for.”

“You’ll never get what you came for until you can do just that,” Ducard counters. “You need to understand yourself, from your base needs up.”

Bruce snorts. “You told me I’m the only one who can say what I’m here for.”

Ducard raises an eyebrow. “Quite right. But I don’t think you’ve figured it out yet.”

“Well I’ll let you know when I know,” Bruce says bitterly. “Until then, you can stop using my body for your kicks.”

As Bruce walks away, the snow crunching in complaint under his boots, Ducard calls after him, “You’ve never complained before.”

Bruce knows that’s true. All Ducard’s been doing is manipulating his body and his mind and most especially his emotions in a quest to make his student into exactly what he wants Bruce to be. That’s suited Bruce just fine for the most part.

Here, however, is where he’s drawing his line in the snow. 

Everything in his life to date has been too raw and too involved. He won’t let this follow that same track. He needs to maintain _some_ distance. 

No matter what he wants, that sort of relationship is not what he _needs_. At least not with Ducard.

After all, to Ducard it will only ever be a lesson.

~FIN~


End file.
